


Pain and Wilson

by Morgane (smilla840)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M, Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:36:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House hurts. Wilson does what he does best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain and Wilson

Dr. Gregory House sometimes wished he could cry.

He had just sent the ducklings to start a new series of tests on their latest patient and had gone back to his office where he had made a wrong turn, twisted the wrong way, and pain had flared in his leg and now it seemed his entire body.

So there he was, lying on the floor in his office, not really remembering how he had gotten from vertical to horizontal, and he couldn’t even _think_ because it hurt too bad. His Vicodin was on his desk, and he tried weakly to reach for it but without success and only more pain.

It really didn’t happen often. Even with a dead leg and a cane, he had retained some of the innate fluidness and grace that had always been his. But once in a while, he would make a wrong move and there would be pain, so much pain, almost as bad as back then, when it had first started. He would take more pills and get over it. And no one could help. Or rather he didn’t allow anyone to help. Except Wilson. But Wilson didn’t really count, because he had never allowed him to help per say, the man just wouldn’t leave him alone.

Lying there, shaky and sweaty and more than a little nauseous, because fuck it hurt, Greg wished Wilson were here right now. He _needed_ him here right now. Not that he would ever admit it out loud. But it hurt and he couldn’t reach his pills and the pain had to stop soon because he wasn’t sure he could deal with much more.

Noise alerted him that someone - or someones - was near and he opened his eyes hopefully. But no luck. The ducklings were back, staring at him upside down, looking very much like the incompetents they were.

“Are you alright?” Ah. Cameron, of course. Worried and concerned and couldn’t she just get over him?

“Of course I am. Just thought I would take a nap on the floor of my office,” he replied bitingly through gritted teeth, so it didn’t come out the same way it usually did. “Now get out.”

Because, okay, he could - maybe - ask Wilson for help but them... not a chance in hell. No matter how much pain he was in right now, he still had some pride. And he never had to ask Wilson for anything anyway. Wilson just... did things.

“But...”

Now, that wouldn’t do. He wanted them out of his office now and if his usual sarcasm didn’t work, he would resort to violence.

Grabbing blindly the first object his hand would find - which turned out to be the waste basket - he hurled it in their general direction. The throw was weak and didn’t even come near its intended target, but it succeeded in its aim: it sent them scattering and out of the door.

 

He didn’t know how much time passed - it could have been minutes or hours, it made no difference to him. He only knew pain, a white haze of noises, his heartbeat pounding in his chest, blood rushing through his head, his breathing rapid and so loud.

Eyes shut and jaw tightly clenched, he tried to focus on something else, anything, and his mind latched on Wilson because Wilson always managed to make his day better seemingly without even trying - again, not something he would admit to anyone but himself.

He was still focusing hard when a cool hand touched his forehead, pushing back his sweaty hair and...

“Greg?”

He knew that voice. And he also knew that hand because no one else would have been brave enough to try and touch him. He blinked his eyes open and sure enough, there was Wilson. Probably a hallucination though, brought on by the pain - the brain did funny things like that - but he didn’t care. He even was relieved. And since it probably was a hallucination, nothing could stop him from doing what he wanted either.

Grabbing the hand that was now resting on his shoulder, he squeezed it hard, bringing their linked hands to his chest.

“Greg, where are your pills?” The voice sounded more urgent now, and when Greg gestured in the direction of his desk, the hand tried to move away. He wasn’t about to let that happen. Holding on to it with all his might as if it was the only thing between him and the pain, he refused to let go.

“Greg I need to get your pills.”

Had he been more lucid, Dr. Gregory House would have seen the logic behind Wilson’s plea, and how much more rational it was to take Vicodin for the pain than hold on to someone’s hand. Hell, he would have sneered and belittled even the suggestion. But he wasn’t exactly in his right state of mind at the moment so he just shook his head and clung stubbornly to the hand.

“Chase, would you...”

There was movement in the room, the faint noise of clothes rustling, and Greg wanted to open his eyes and glare at - Chase? What was he even doing here? - and demand that he leave. He would have done just that ten minutes earlier, but he was past caring now and he couldn’t bring himself to move that much.

Suddenly he wasn’t lying on the floor anymore but was propped up against a warm chest and he tensed reflexively, but it was Wilson behind him so he could relax again. His stomach wasn’t sure it liked the change much either but thankfully he didn’t throw up.

“Open up.”

Greg opened bleary eyes to see Wilson’s other hand present him white pills, Chase still hovering on the side with the bottle of Vicodin. He did manage to make himself glare at the kid this time, though weakly, and it didn’t get its usual response either.

Wilson nudged him, bringing his attention back to the pills, which he took gratefully, but still didn’t let go of Wilson’s hand.

Again, he lost track of time, until the pills finally did their job and brought the pain back under control, to a dull throbbing pain his brain could ignore. So he enjoyed the moment. He felt _good_.

“Hey.”

House turned his head slightly towards his friend, a goofy smile appearing on his face.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fa.Bu.Lous.”

“You are soo stoned right now,” Wilson said in a sing-song voice, grinning. “You should be thankful I sent Chase away.”

House frowned a little, his mind trying to make sense of the jumble of pictures it hold. Right. Chase - and Cameron and Foreman too at some point and he had yelled at them, hadn’t he? - had been here, and a quick look around the room told him he wasn’t anymore. He thought vaguely that he should be grateful to the Brit - Aussie - whatever - for getting Wilson. Therefore he would have to find a way to get back at him - a week of extra-caustic jabs might do the trick.

That Chase had noticed his relying on Wilson would have made him a little uneasy if he hadn’t been so doped up, although it shouldn’t have been that surprising. Chase was no idiot after all - he wouldn’t have hired him no matter the number of 0 on his father’s check if he was - and had been there the longest. He wasn’t blinded by personal feelings when it came to House either - be it Foreman’s dislike or Cameron’s crush. Still... Right now, he didn’t care about a thing in the world.

“You’re right, I am soo stoned,” Greg answered, sounding very happy with himself. He was all better now, the pain a distant memory. And he was quite comfortable too. James made a great pillow - always had. Of course, he knew the pain would come back soon, but for now, he had a respite.

So he kissed James, and then kissed him again.


End file.
